Cinnamon Delirium

The café across the street just got my order correct for the first time. I’m a fan of Across-the-Street-Café (as I have named it), despite the high probability of being handed something that only vaguely resembles what you had asked for – it’s filled with red couches and quirky artwork, and barristas who probably wouldn’t make it at Starbucks but seem to be far more charming than anyone wearing the green apron. Except for one woman who would probably beat you with an espresso grinder if given half the chance. Anyway, during my first morning on Bank Street I ordered a large dark roast and when the potentially-pubescent individual behind the counter reached for a “small” cup I lunged forward involuntarily gasping “No!” He looked terrified to which I replied, “I’m sorry…it’s just no way that’s big enough.” Thus began my addiction-fuelled love affair with the certified-fair-trade-organic beanery next to the place that makes floral arrangements out of fruit (the things you can DO with a melon baller!). This is my work neighbourhood. Or at least, one of them.

My building is packed with non-profit organizations. Interestingly, while my door opens next to the Canadian Federation of University Women, my window looks directly over “Dare to Be Naughty Adult Novelty,” which can apparently give you a great deal on floggers. Heading North towards the canal, you can see Parliament, and will pass a large Royal Bank of Canada, along with bakeries, boutiques, and the patio of an Italian bistro. One of the reasons I love Ottawa is that everything is mixed up: food, art, politics, music, business. Depending on the route, you can end up outside an embassy, inside a university building, or picking up a used book for a dollar while a man plays guitar on the sidewalk. There are also dozens of Lebanese food places – Ottawa must be the shawarma capital of the Western world.

My commute this morning was slightly delirious, which added to the usual excitement and interest. To start, monsoon season has unexpectedly arrived in central Canada, and it is pouring. Ottawans, unlike Vancouverites, are inexperienced when it comes to moving through crowded streets in the rain, and being that my eyes are level with most people’s umbrellas, there is much dodging and jumping in order to protect my vision. Gumboots and raincoats abound, and public transit becomes tropical as crowded wet bodies steam, dressed unnecessarily for the apocalypse. Having woken up with the same mild fever I took to bed, I could add dizziness to the heat and humidity, making for an oddly detached, out-of-body commuting experience. Thus, successfully receiving a cup in my hand that was not only the right size, but also contained soy milk (“no, that’s cow, the one with the beans…”), AND an offer of extra cinnamon, was hugely calming before my regular 8am-laptop-switch-on to see what the day would bring. Incidentally, the day is bringing lots of things, so back to work I go. I’ll try writing about what it is I actually do another time.